Well, it’s almost been one year to the date, that I found out I was pregnant. It was December 27, 2000 and I was just rekindling a relationship with my long-time boyfriend. At 21, unmarried, no job, no education, no money, and no idea what to do with my life – I felt it couldn’t have been a worse time to get pregnant. I was still a “baby” even though by age standards I was old enough to vote and legally drink alcohol.
I have a three year old son. Donavan would have turned three years old this year in October. There were no birthday candles being blown out.
I murdered my son three years ago. I thought it was the only choice, the only way out. What I did not understand at that time was that it was no choice at all. It was my child, my baby.
I had just turned 18 when I found out that I was pregnant. It seemed that it was the worst thing to happen after the hell that I had just gone through.
Hello, my name is Brandi. I was 16 when I found out I was pregnant. At first I was all sorts of confused. My parents kicked me out of my house. I was living with my boyfriend and his family. It was horrible. I was forced to tell my Mom and stepfather that I was pregnant the day before my 17th birthday.
